


What Dreams May Come

by Of Elves and Wolves (Only2morrow)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4940035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only2morrow/pseuds/Of%20Elves%20and%20Wolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shot short fic of Solas watching over the Inquisitor in Haven before she wakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Dreams May Come

With the exception of the faint water dripping from the leaky roof, the dungeon room in which the two elves sat was as silent. Though silence took the room, making it a preferable place to the chaotic noise in the wake of the destruction of the Temple of the Sacred Ashes, the place still held the musky and moldy scent of any dungeon meant to hold the guilty rather than house the innocent. 

Though others questioned and called for the head of the elf laying upon the small cot requisitioned to place the woman upon, the man next to her knew the truth of the matter. He knew the answer to the question of her innocence before the question left the lips of the survivors of the Conclave.

What he didn't know is *how* this happened? 

The elven woman stirred, a moan escaping her as her lithe body shivered on that cold cot, her mind still lost in what Solas could only assume was the Fade as she slept. For a mere moment, he envied her. She had yet to wake since walking out of the Fade, leaving her ignorant to the destruction caused by the mark upon her hand.

And yet... Though others died, this woman yet survived. That alone puzzled the dreamer's thoughts. The mark upon her hand should have taken her life, it should have killed her. Though perhaps it still would.

She stirred yet again, a moan of pain escaping her pinked lips. With care, Solas took her small, yet calloused, hand in to his, the glowing green energy of the Fade calming the mark and soothing her pain. A furrow came upon his brow as he looked upon her face once more. What sort of woman might she be to survive such a thing? What quality allowed her to survive? 

The vallaslin upon her cheeks marked her as one of the Dalish, the mislead fools who thought themselves righteous in remembering the “old ways”, ways they held no real ideas on in the first place. Was that how she survived? The mark was elven. The orb was elven. Perhaps something in her blood allowed the mark to bestow itself, if only for a little while. 

By only the small act of picking up an orb, this elven woman changed everything. 

Gently, Solas brushed the stray strands of iron-barked hair from her bronzed cheeks. Try as he may, even the dreamer admitted the woman held a beauty to her separate from the puzzling mark. A wild beauty, untamed by the civilizations of man. A fierce beauty, accompanied by the hard setting of her lips as pain took her again. 

Was that how she survived? By some inner ferocity? 

He soothed the pain of her hand yet again watching intently at the relaxing contortions of her face. Though she still slept in silence, the quiet of the room would soon break with more questions. The Seeker Cassandra, in her grief would demand answers to questions she could not even ask, the spymaster Leliana would check the security of the chains waiting for her bronzed hands. 

Interrogation waited for her. Realization waited for her. Fight waited for her. 

But perhaps, until then he could comfort her in her slumber one last time. For though the mark was his, though the destruction came from his orb.

He was no monster.


End file.
